


What Sexy Fucking Nightmare Did You Walk Out of

by DesdemonaKaylose



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Chastity Device, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Yes Really, trash king Jimmy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 01:13:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose
Summary: I wish I could tell you what you're getting into, but honestly I don't know what to do other than point up at the tags





	What Sexy Fucking Nightmare Did You Walk Out of

**Author's Note:**

> I guess after finishing one high school au I must have got a taste for it. I wasn't going to publish it, actually, but more than one person wanted to read it so here we go. please validate my choice to utterly drag myself for your entertainment.

Jimmy knows _of_ Edgar, he guesses. Or like, everyone in their year knows the Vargas family because of that one time they picketed the school production of _Hamlet_ because speaking to ghosts is necromancy and necromancers are supposed to be put to death by the community according to, fuck, some bible verse, he guesses. He mostly remembers that Edgar just stood there looking totally mortified during the whole thing. They have American History together. Edgar comes in to every class with cans of redbull from the gas station across the road even though Jimmy is ninety percent sure Mormons or whatthefuckever the Vargases are don't have a high opinion of caffeine. So yeah, Jimmy knows of him. At least enough to pull back one of the ears of his headphones when Edgar stops beside his seat on the bus and asks, "Is this seat taken?"

Jimmy looks him up and down. It's a fair drive to the national park where his stupid class is spending the day cataloguing salamanders, and it's a pretty full bus, and he guesses he'd rather ride with a known quantity like Edgar than some of the other freaks in this grade. He pushes his backpack out of the seat and kicks it out of the way.

"Thanks," Edgar says, and settles in pretty easy.

Jimmy considers him for a long moment, the music pumping in his ears temporarily forgotten. Edgar's dressed in a white linen shirt and khakis and basically looks like a cartoon off the poster for homeschooled robo boys.

"I can't believe your family let you come on this thing," Jimmy says. "They don't chain you up in the dog house when you're done putting in hours at school?"

Edgar gives him a sour twitch of the eyebrows. "If you don't want me to bring up your trailer park trash home life," he says mildly, "don't bring up mine?"

"What would you know about my homelife?" Jimmy says, narrowing his eyes.

Edgar rests his head against the seat and starts ticking off fingers. "Your lunch most days of the week consists of aerosol cheese whip. At least twice I have seen you drinking gin out of a plastic water bottle during history. You own one pair of jeans and I can tell because when you don't wear underwear I can see the bottom of your asscheek through the hole in the seat of your pants."

Jimmy stares at him, dumbfounded. "Have you been looking at my ass?" he says.

Edgar blinks, twice, sitting perfectly still. "I've said too much," he observes, and then takes a four second long gulp of redbull from the can in his hand.

 

 

 

Edgar shares his travel-size bag of tiny cookies with Jimmy, which goes a long way in Jimmy's book. Edgar wants to know what he's listening to. Instead of just telling him, which he could do, Jimmy pulls off his headphones and puts them over Edgar's ears, and watches the light show of expressions on his face as he goes from 1. startled by the loudness, to 2. getting the hang of it, to 3. delighted by the few lyrics he can make out. It's a little bit--he doesn’t know what--well, Jimmy likes the CD himself obviously, but he's never been responsible for making another person's face do _that._ Also the song that's playing is about eighty percent the lead singer begging the devil to fuck him in a way that’s only partly ironic, so uh,

Anyway.

By the time they get to the park, Jimmy has decided that the Vargases are doing a really shitty job of running their cult because Edgar is way too smart for any of them and in one bus ride he’s already decided he absolutely loves HELLSLUTS UNCUT. On the bus, with the headphones firmly in place, he shouts, "I love when the singer sounds like he's vomiting into the microphone!" like the rest of the class isn't several decibels quieter than what he's listening to.

It's a good ride.

The chaperones sort them out into groups as they're filing down off the bus, and Jimmy knows this game, he knows that they won't put people together who walk out at the same time because school groups with friends in them cause trouble. So he watches Edgar go, in his weirdly alluring khakis, and after a sufficient count Jimmy grabs his bag and disembarks. It totally works. He's hacked the system, he's a goddamn genius.

Riverside, Edgar rolls up his pants and slides into the water while Jimmy perches up on a rock in the middle of the stream. The rest of their group wanders downstream to fuck around with a big lizard and never comes back, so Jimmy just sits there, monologuing absently about movies he's seen and people he hates, while Edgar meticulously jars tiny salamander after tiny salamander. His glasses keep slipping down his nose, until finally he gives up and pulls them off. The lenses are sprayed with little dots of river water. He considers them for a second, and then offers them to Jimmy.

"Hold these for me, please," he says.

Jimmy takes them and unfolds them in his hand, and then, because the dots are kind of bothering him, licks the lenses. When he looks up, Edgar is staring at him.

"Did you just do that?" Edgar says.

"Do what?" Jimmy says.

"Okay," Edgar says, "new plan. I'm putting those on the grass and far away from you." He sloshes over to Jimmy's rock and reaches for them, but Jimmy gets a foot in his chest and pushes him back.

"Hey, come on," Jimmy says, "chill, it's just a little spit. You breathe all over them when you're cleaning them, what's the difference?"

"Trust me," Edgar says, with a grunt as he strains against the boot in his chest, "there's a difference."

"Don't be a baby," Jimmy says.

Edgar stretches his fingers as he leans against Jimmy with his whole body. A jolt goes through Jimmy as Edgar grabs his shoulder for balance and presses his knee back against his body - his heart goes _thump clang_ and suddenly he's toppling over backwards, grabbing at Edgar for support. Edgar's too unbalanced to support either of them though, and he comes toppling forward too. They crash into the water in a heap, where it's just deep enough that Jimmy goes fully under before he hits the bottom. He's pulled up almost immediately, Edgar levering himself up off Jimmy's chest and pulling Jimmy up after him, so that they're both soaked and gasping as the current pours on around them. Water drips from Edgar’s chin onto Jimmy’s neck, plop plop, as he brushes Jimmy's hair back off his forehead and out of his eyes. Those fingers leave fizzle-hot stripes of hypersensitivity over his scalp where they push through his hair. And Jimmy, who can get hard in a slight breeze, goes ragingly full inside his shitty jeans.  

"Uh," he says.

Edgar leans in, reaches down past him, and wiggles his glasses out of Jimmy's fist, miraculously unharmed. His chest bumps Jimmy's shoulder, all solid and dark through the transparent sheet of his soaked linen.

"I'm not wearing any underwear," Jimmy says, because _fuck?_ his brain?

"I know," Edgar says, and Jimmy remembers abruptly the whole thing about Edgar looking at his jeans, and uuhhhhhh in for penny in for a benji.

"We should fuck," Jimmy says, mouth incongruously dry.

Edgar pauses. One of his knees is tucked under Jimmy's sprawled leg, and he seems to be belatedly taking notice of the position they're in. "That's a very bad idea," Edgar says, "for a multitude of reasons."

"That's not a no," Jimmy says quickly.

Edgar starts to untangle himself, but Jimmy grabs his arm and pulls him back close before he can make any real progress. There's no way he's passing up this opportunity, no way in hell, like, when's the next time he's gonna be able to get a minute alone with someone who has looked at his ass? Maybe more than once? Ignoring the urgent noises of protest Edgar is making, Jimmy gets a hand between them and gropes for Edgar's cock, getting handfuls of slick fabric and thigh meat until - what was that -

Edgar lets out a groan of absolute despair.

Jimmy pauses, and then pushes Edgar until he goes backwards into the river. Jimmy mounts his legs and presses down on the crotch of the khakis until the fabric is flush against the mechanism under it. It's unmistakably a tiny padlock.

Edgar says, "Now hold on a minute-" but Jimmy is already tearing open the zipper, forcing his fingers under the fabric to find hard plastic. He feels out the enclosed shape of a cock, and pliable flesh underneath it closed up in a ring of more plastic. As his fingertips knead Edgar's exposed balls, Edgar lets out a noise so breathy and low that it sends shivers all the way down his spine.

"What the fuck is this?" Jimmy demands. His fingers find a slit in the tip of the casing, where he can feel the head of the cock peeking through.

Edgar's body arcs, his breath glitching. "Stop touching that," he says, but hoarsely. "It's a chastity device."

 _"_ Whyy _yy?"_ Jimmy says, drawing the word out uncertainly.

Edgar grabs his wrist hard, stopping him entirely. "My folks," he says, "it's an abstinence thing. Like a purity ring, I guess?"

"So you can't," Jimmy says, "like, ever?"

Edgar lets out a hard sigh and slumps back into the water, saying, "They'll probably give me the key when I get married, because of course I'm going to get married, obviously, me being so _very_ interested in girls and all."

Jimmy thinks he could almost cry at how sad that is, what a _waste_ of good healthy cock meat, honestly the Vargases should be arrested for this. Edgar just looks resigned about it, staring up past Jimmy and at the cheery summer sky.

"Fuuuuck," Jimmy says, "I really wanted to get my mouth around that."

Edgar goes just noticeably flushed under his coffee and cream skin, not dark yet from summer sunshine. It's too much for Jimmy's poor weak heart, and also his dick which definitely hasn't gotten the latest memo. He slumps against Edgar, forehead thunking down on shoulder.

Edgar jumps a little but doesn't push him off.

"So have you _ever_ gotten off?" Jimmy asks, into Edgar's wet shirt.

"Uhhh," Edgar says, "I guess I must have at some point. There was a whole embarrassing debacle with some sheets, but my mother put that to a stop _right_ away. Honestly I haven't had much cause to miss it, except for-"

The particularly thick quality of the silence makes Jimmy's whole body positively _thrill_ with excitement. Oh god he's gonna find some way around this, see if he doesn't, where there is a will there is a goddamn _way_. His free hand is already sliding through the current, creeping its way towards the inevitable. He palms himself in the secret hollow between Edgar's legs, forehead against Edgar's shoulder, watching the flesh swollen against its cage in between them.

"What--" Edgar says, "Are you fucking _serious?_ "

Jimmy lets out a grinding moan, unabashed, cinching his free arm around Edgar's back to pull him closer or stop him from leaving, either is good, both are important. He can hear the tiny wet sound of Edgar's lips parting, maybe licking his lips, he seems like the type to have those kinds of nervous habits. His clothes stick to his body in dark wrinkles, sucking at Jimmy's hand as it tightens over a shoulder blade.

"Jimmy this is a," Edgar's breath hitches, "a class trip, literally anyone could walk through here--"

Jimmy moans again, pulling Edgar tight against him. He strains his hips forward - it's not comfortable, but it doesn't need to be, he just wants to touch the delicate skin under Edgar's cage with his dick, that is literally all he's thinking about, he's not even sure why it's so important but god _damn_ is it important. The head of his cock nudges Edgar's balls, glans red and swollen, sliding underneath and disappearing for spare seconds that absolutely are giving him ideas about what else he'd like to do with this pretty, tragic, unbelievable son of a bitch. He jerks his hand faster, almost frantic now.

"Oh my god," Edgar says, "you're going to come aren't you?"

He sounds scandalized but he also - Jimmy rolls his head against the shoulder and manages a bleary look up into Edgar's flushed face, and yes, there is definitely something there that Jimmy recognizes. Something frantic and animal. Edgar swallows, dry mouth, throat bobbing.

"Hold on," he says, "don't just - you're in a river, you're gonna waste it."

Jimmy makes a distracted, confused noise. His fingers twist over the head of his cock, silky smooth in the submerged current.

"Hold on hold on," Edgar is muttering, and then he's pulling Jimmy up into his lap, just barely out of the water, so tight against his stomach that the upward thrust of Jimmy's cock rucks up the fabric of his shirt. Jimmy's thighs are split apart by Edgar's legs and he _loves it_ , wherever this is going he is _ready for it._ Edgar reaches down and worries the slit in the head with his thumb, inexpert but relentless. Jimmy shudders, pushes up against Edgar's body, and comes with a heavy pant. Edgar worries the flesh through the whole thing, fingers going milky and slick with come. When Jimmy finally makes a protesting noise at him, Edgar reluctantly pulls his hand away. He stares down at it, like someone hypnotized, and then slowly lifts it to his mouth. He licks a sticky stripe up from his palm.

"Gnnnnffuuckn _shit_ ," Jimmy says, incoherently but with a lot of feeling. "What fucking sexy nightmare did _you_ walk out of?"

“Sorry. I should have asked.” Edgar sucks his fingers like he doesn’t even _know_ what he’s doing.

Jimmy does his best to not just straight up pass out from sensory overload.

 

 

 

It’s a beautiful day on a boring trip and Jimmy lasts a remarkable hour before he tries anything else. Edgar’s got some kind of sixth sense for his bullshit because he slaps Jimmy’s hand right out of the air mid-grab. All the chaperones have taken turns shaking their heads at the wet clothes and the upended jar of salamanders (mostly escaped in the tumble), as they dry out for the most part in the sun. Some lady tries to give them a Fun Lecture About Ecology. Edgar twists his roaming hand back so hard a tendon nearly snaps. When the bus loads back up, they wordlessly take a seat next to each other.

The sun is going down outside the bus as they rumble back home, and Jimmy can see some of the heads around them nodding off, cheeks smudged against the window glass. It’s not like Jimmy isn’t _capable_ of thinking deep soulful thoughts about the color of the sunrise or the ephemerality of youth or the meaning of life but, like, how’s he supposed to think about anything when Edgar is sitting next to him like that! Existing! Like a guy who licked up Jimmy’s come less than two hours ago like it was candy!

The bus grinds forward into twilight and Jimmy finally cannot take it anymore. He gets a leg tucked under him and twists in his seat. He closes a hand over Edgar’s knee.

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” Edgar warns him, staring ahead.

“Come oooon,” Jimmy whines, burying his nose in Edgar’s ear. He feels Edgar stiffen more than he sees it.

“Not on your life,” Edgar says. His heartbeat pounding under his ears gives him away though, Jimmy can feel it when he nuzzles in close.

“I just wanna touch it,” Jimmy whispers.

His hand is sliding up khaki and towards the horrible, magnetic, weirdly pretty thing he can’t stop thinking about. Edgar seems to be wavering. For one thing, he hasn’t removed Jimmy’s hand.

“If you touch yourself,” Edgar says, “you’re definitely going to make a scene and you’ll get both of us in trouble.”

“So I _won’t_ ,” Jimmy says, wheeling and dealing best as he can. “I just wanna touch it, _please_ , I can’t even do anything with it, you said so.”

Edgar’s fingers twitch against his leg. He does a surreptitious search for adults, scanning the empty aisle. “Alright,” he says, “if it’ll keep you occupied. I guess it can’t hurt much.”

Jimmy immediately dives for the cock cage, hand disappearing inside of underwear. It’s so smooth and hard, like a toy, like something made in china and packaged up in a blister pack. He rubs at the opening in it, and then on an innocent impulse, digs his nail into the slit in the cock head. Edgar snaps back against his seat, teeth buried in his bottom lip so hard the skin goes white and then red. He turns a look of absolute murder on Jimmy.

“The _fuck_ ,” he says, “was that?”

Jimmy shrugs, already distracted by the next interesting thing. He fondles the soft spots, kneading them softly again, tracing fingertips back over the perineum as he burrows underneath Edgar. He feels like he’s burying himself in something secret and guarded, something he’s not supposed to touch. Edgar starts to fidget, hips twitching against the seat. His thighs flex and flex.

“I thought you said this didn’t do anything for you,” Jimmy says, squeezing a little harder to see what it makes Edgar do. Edgar lifts up off the seat, just a fraction, hand scrabbling at the armrest.

“That is _not_ what I said,” Edgar breathes. He’s definitely grinding down into Jimmy now, no two ways about it.

“Wow,” Jimmy says, watching the strain on Edgar’s throat as he bites down on all the little noises he wants to make. Jimmy could do this all _day_. “This must be torture for you, huh? Just getting more wound up with nowhere to go? Man, I can’t imagine living like that.”

“You’re not _helping_ it,” Edgar says, through gritted teeth.

Jimmy kisses him. He can’t help it, Edgar looks so cute wriggling like that, like something stuck and helpless on a hook, with his red lips and his frantically working throat and his glasses slipping down his nose. Edgar lets him, although it’s mostly just a matter of opening his mouth to let Jimmy do what he wants with it. Jimmy is starting to breathe hard, dexterity reduced to just grinding the heel of his hand up into whatever’s in reach, when the screaming metal death trap they’re all riding on gives a horrible metallic shout and abruptly gives out under them.

 

 

 

Actually everyone comes out of it just fine. The bus driver pulls them over onto the side of the road and the brakes work just fine, and Edgar manages to button himself up perfectly in the three seconds before the whole bus is on their feet in a panic, and basically it’s just another boring cluster fuck. After a couple minutes of chaos, the driver climbs back inside and announces that they aren’t going anywhere until the tow service show up, and there’s only one tow service in the county that can handle a bus of this size, so they had better sit tight.

About fifteen minutes later, the chaperone with the short straw announces that anyone whose parents can come get them should do so. They’re still an hour out from the city, and anyone whose parents can’t come get them is going to have to come with the chaperones over to the holiday inn a little way back up the road. Jimmy glances at Edgar out the side of his eye.

While everyone who has a cell phone is dialing their parents, Jimmy hangs an arm over the back of his seat and says, “What about you? You got a ride home?”

Edgar is frowning. “I’m not allowed to have a cell phone. I was supposed to walk home from school when we got back. I’m not sure - of course they won’t want me spending the night out in some strange place without supervision, but I think my sister has the car tonight, and she works until 4 am--”

“Huuuuuh,” Jimmy says. The wheels in his head are turning. “What a coincidence,” he says, “I’m not getting picked up either.”

“Oh no,” Edgar says, “no, definitely not--”

An hour and one cramped car ride later, Jimmy has maneuvered event in just such a way that when their unlucky chaperone is handing them the keys to a tiny hotel room in the middle of nowhere, it’s together. He hitches an arm around Edgar’s shoulder and assures the teacher that they’ll just be the best of friends, he knows it, and no sir there’s absolutely no reason to worry about anyone getting into trouble. He’s sure the man is thinking about the incident a month ago where Jimmy chased another student around the classroom with a pair of scissors, and really all he’s got to do to waylay suspicion is clearly demonstrate his lack of scissors. The teachers all have more on their minds, or at least these ones do, the ones who got stuck with overnight babysitting. Like convincing the clerk to give them rooms for the boys and girls on different floors. Poor innocent fuckers.

Jimmy pulls the hotel room door closed behind him, locks it, and glances over his shoulder.

Edgar, perched on the bed, says, “Good grief, are you about to monologue your villainous plot at me?”

“Nooo,” Jimmy says. He turns around.

Edgar holds up a hand. “Again,” he says, “I just want to make it clear. This is a very bad idea.”

“Right, like me fingering you on the bus was a bad idea. What can I say,” he grins, “I’m full of ‘em.”

Edgar throws back his head like he’s begging god for patience. But he doesn’t say anything else, which Jimmy takes as a good sign. There are two beds, sure, with a night stand in between, but Jimmy ignores the second bed in favor of ransacking the small bathroom for free goodies. They’ve got the standard hotel fair, the tiny shampoo and the tiny soap, and more importantly they have just the thing Jimmy is looking for. He comes back out with the tiny hand lotion and crawls onto Edgar’s bed, dropping his prize in Edgar’s lap.

Edgar lifts it with two fingers, lifting his glasses to read the small print better. “What in god’s name are you thinking right now?” he asks.

“I’m thinking you should take a shower,” Jimmy says, wiggling his eyebrows in what he imagines is a very provocative manner.

Edgar scowls at him. “I think _you_ should take a shower,” he retorts.

Jimmy waves him off. “I’ll go next, that stall’s too small for both of us. Love the enthusiasm though,” he adds, giving Edgar’s thigh a squeeze as he climbs back off the bed. He bends over his backpack on the floor and digs his wallet free, a ratty bulky thing that will not fit in his jeans no matter how hard he tries. It doesn’t usually matter because he rarely carries around more than a handful of quarters for bus fare anyway, but today that’s just what he needs.

When he comes back up, wallet in hand, he does _not_ miss how Edgar’s eyes were zeroed in on his ass before immediately looking away.

Jimmy pauses with the door half closed behind him, shoots Edgar a grin, and says, “Remember! Don’t dream it, be it!”

He can hear Edgar shouting at him through the door as he skips away, which reminds him, volume control. While Jimmy has absolutely no problem subjecting any and all bystanders to the full range of his vocal repertoire, he is not about to get cockblocked by Mr. Mcdaniels the Algebra nerd for disturbing the peace.

Jimmy comes back with two (2) individually wrapped lubricated condoms, which is all he had the quarters to afford. Jimmy has _absolutely_ been barebacked before but, like, he kind of doesn’t want to put Edgar through that experience? Not that Jimmy regrets it, or anything, but.  Like maybe he can do better? For Edgar?

Edgar, who stalks out of the shower in a cheap hotel towel that doesn’t quite circle his body, hands cinching the ends together over his hip like a kind of loincloth from one of those video games Jimmy can’t play but loves to look at. He’s mostly dried himself off, except for a missed drop that runs slowly down his thigh. Jimmy can’t look away from it.

“Well?” Edgar says, not quite pulling off that dismissive expression without his glasses to help him figure out where Jimmy is sitting.

Jimmy is up before he knows he’s done it, moving quickly across the carpet towards Edgar, whose eyes widen as his vision comes clearer. Jimmy reaches down and runs his fingers up the trail of water, until they disappear under the towel. Edgar lets him, shivers, looks away. God _damn_ he’s perfect, big hands and skinny wrists, delicate collarbones, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. Jimmy can find something attractive in just about anyone but Edgar is _perfect,_ absolutely made for him, made to satisfy every dumb animal hunger, every urge.

Jimmy pushes him back against the sink counter, burying his face in the crook of Edgar’s neck. There’s a sharp intake sound, like Edgar is sucking in a breath through his clenched teeth. Oh fuck, Jimmy is gonna die if he doesn’t get in closer like _yesterday_.

“Hop up,” Jimmy says, with an enthusiastic slap to Edgar’s thigh. Edgar jumps.

“Beg pardon?” Edgar says, rubbing faintly at the place Jimmy hit. Jimmy rolls his eyes and pats the countertop sharply.

“Drop the towel, hop up.”

Edgar squints at him. “You said you were going to take a shower,” he points out.

“Yeah, I know, I’m gonna,” Jimmy says impatiently. “Right now I gotta get my mouth on you or I’m super gonna lose it.”

Edgar’s mouth pops open in an O for a beat before he gets with the program. It takes him a second to commit to dropping the towel, but at last he seems to reach the conclusion that he can’t lever himself up with one hand anyway, and he makes quick work of messily folding it up before obliging. There’s a pale freckle on his hip. He settles on top of the counter and then, after a second of thought, spreads his knees against the edge. The effect is heart-stopping.

Inside his thighs there are faint little pink lines, like scars but not the kinds of scars Jimmy expects to see hidden on the bodies of people he fucks. They’re something entirely different, although what he doesn’t know. When Edgar drags his hands nervously over himself, the color disappears.

There’s the telltale plastic glint between his thighs, and more importantly, the straining skin cinched underneath. Jimmy plants his elbows on the counter and dives into the hot soap-smelling burrow there, sucking what he can reach of Edgar’s balls into his mouth. Edgar’s hands slam into the counter with an ear-ringing slap. Jimmy tongues plastic and flesh and Edgar twitches like he’s seizing, heels drumming the wooden cabinet under him. Jimmy sucks harder, drawing a noise out of Edgar that sounds more like pain than anything else, but all Edgar does is twist a hand into Jimmy’s hair and hold him in place.

“Fuck,” Edgar breathes. “I don’t know what you’re - getting out of this -”

Jimmy pulls away just enough to say, “Wanna see you squirm,” and then licks a hot stripe up the shiny skin. Edgar’s hand in his hair tightens, nails digging into his scalp, and then abruptly withdraws. He looks down at his hand.

“Okay, you’re taking a shower _now_ ,” Edgar says, rubbing his fingers together with an expression of pure consternation. “I can feel what’s got to be days worth of gel still in your hair.”

Jimmy makes an irritated noise but does stand back up. He surreptitiously feels his scalp. It’s not _that_ bad, most of it hasn’t even melded itself together yet. But whatever, he knew he was gonna have to make some kind of effort if he was gonna sleep with a fussy guy like he can tell Edgar is. He’s already committed to it.

Jimmy gets through his shower so fast that the hot water heater almost doesn’t have time to give out on him, which is lucky, because he does not need small-dick-ice-water syndrome putting a damper on this extremely smooth seduction. The doorknob drips with condensation.  Jimmy throws the bathroom door open, not bothering with a towel and still about fifty percent wet. Edgar looks up, startled. He’s got his glasses back on.

“You bought condoms?” Edgar says, holding up one of the little squares.  “That’s presumptuous.”

Jimmy shrugs. He swings over to the bed and hangs himself over Edgar’s shoulder, tugging the square out of his grip. “Like you don’t wanna try it,” Jimmy says. “You’re practically drooling for it.”

Edgar makes a noncommittal noise. Jimmy grins.

“You don’t just wanna get _fucked_ , man,” he says, “you wanna get _railed.”_

“Uh huh,” Edgar says, almost convincingly unimpressed except for the way his hips shift minutely on the bedspread. “And you’re the expert in this, then?”

“You bet your ass I am,” Jimmy says, because he’s definitely fucked more dudes than Edgar has, even if that’s not many. He wraps his hand around Edgar’s throat, nosing at his ear. He likes this. Holding somebody in his hand. Knowing what they want.

In these situations, normally Jimmy looks for encouragement in the swell of a dick, but with Edgar he’s got to look for other things - the goosebumps down his arms, the hitch of his breathing, the way he holds himself very still in the hopes that Jimmy will press in closer, like a patient holding themselves open for inspection. He bites the shell of Edgar’s ear, more a warning not to move than anything else. Edgar gives in like he was waiting for it, palms open, unresisting.

Jimmy drops the condom on the bedspread and pushes his hand down between Edgar’s legs, thumbing circles over the skin until he can almost hear a whimper in Edgar’s voice. It’s so delicate here, and the fact that some of it is squeezed tight inside of protective plastic is only making it more obvious that it _needs_ protecting. Poor chaste little Edgar. Too bad nobody can protect everything, huh? There’s a weak spot in any kind of armor, if you want to find it bad enough…

Jimmy retreats across the bed, letting his touch linger over Edgar’s hip and the small of his back as he pulls away. The line of Edgar’s back is so pretty, broad shoulders dipping down into a thin waist, gangly in a way that Jimmy just can’t stop being hot for. Take it babe, take it all for me--

Edgar twitches. He glances just barely over his shoulder, trying to be cool, not quite successfully hiding the heaviness of his breathing. “I’m sorry, is that it?” he says.

Jimmy points to the space between them. “Face down,” he says. “Ass up.”

“You could say please, you know,” Edgar replies.

Jimmy just palms his dick, pushing up into his own hand, rolling his shoulders in a way that he knows at least one other person liked. His knees slide apart.

Edgar isn’t even pretending anymore - his whole body is twisted towards Jimmy, his pupils blown black as he leans closer and closer. “Well,” he croaks, “if you say so.”

The stiff sheets bunch and fold as Edgar pulls his legs up on the mattress and - two quick steadying breaths - he settles himself down on his elbows and knees. That is _it._ That is the best thing Jimmy has ever seen, the slope curve of Edgar’s bare back, the shadow of Edgar’s dick hanging between his legs, the upward push of his arched ass. That looks good enough to eat.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Jimmy says, “this is some centerfold shit, what have _you_ been reading?”

Edgar rests his cheek on his folded arms, and Jimmy can’t see his expression but his voice sounds pretty snarky when he says, “Are you going to keep asking me stupid questions?”

“Yes,” Jimmy says, and then he dives in for a mouthful. Edgar may be skinny, but when Jimmy bites down into it the flesh is firm and hot, plenty enough to get a mouth full of. Edgar lets out a sound like a squeak, jumping at the bite, but Jimmy’s already got a guiding hand around the other boy’s device, holding him in place. He gives a warning squeeze.

Jimmy loves sucking dick, that’s just his thing, alright, he loves the way someone’s thighs cage his head when he goes down on them, he loves the smell of skin and hormones and sweat, the choke and gag as he strains to swallow it all as far as it can go, the whole thing. If he could suck Edgar’s dick, he’d already be split open on it. As it stands, he’ll take what he can get. Jimmy mouths down into the cleft of Edgar’s ass and licks at it, circles the center with his tongue, sucks the rim of it. He breathes in the lavender soap-smelling skin. Edgar makes an overwhelmed throaty noise, _Ggnnnn_ , thighs flexing randomly like he’s glitching out. Jimmy’s never done this before, but it seems to be going well!

There’s a thump as Edgar’s head hits the mattress, and then his fingers are digging white bloodless prints into his own thighs, and Jimmy suddenly has a pretty good idea where those pink marks came from.

He forces his tongue in, because it seems like something that he should do, and Edgar gives a violent shudder. Hah. No matter where Edgar goes, after this, he’ll never forget that Jimmy was the first one to have his tongue in his ass. When Jimmy pulls back, wiping spit off his lips, even then he can’t keep his hands off for long. He hooks his thumb inside of Edgar and holds him there for a moment, just taking him in.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Edgar mumbles, face still buried in cotton, although he takes a second to get his hands back under him again.

“I’m pretty great,” Jimmy agrees. The cheap hotel hand lotion is cold as he squeezes out a coin sized dollop of it, rolling it between his fingers. You can’t use it for everything, he’s heard some horror stories about what happens if you _really_ use hand lotion as lube - who knows if they’re true - but it still makes the first part easier.

He starts working in a finger, pushing at the hot press of Edgar’s insides. It’s not as difficult as he expected it to be. You know, he’s _starting_ to suspect Edgar is not nearly as prim and proper as he comes off.

“Fuck,” Jimmy says, as Edgar’s body submits to a second finger. “Look how easy you are, Vargas. You must really want it.”

Edgar makes an irritated noise. “Who taught you anatomy, Hugh Hefner? I’m trying to make this easier on both of us.”

“You do this to yourself, don’t you?” Jimmy says, dipping down closer as he fingerfucks the hell out of Edgar. “You horny little bitch.”

“None of your,” Edgar gasps, “business, if I do.”

“All locked up in your stupid little-” Jimmy bears down, “-cage, bent over like a slut, fingering yourself, god I’d love to hear the sounds you make--”

Edgar swears.

Jimmy’s dick grinds over the back of Edgar’s ass as he pumps in and out with his fingers, he’s pressed up tight against Edgar, his other hand splayed across the boy’s belly, squeezing up at the unprotected softness there. He loves the way Edgar responds to him. He could do this forever, just breathing over Edgar’s shoulder, feeling his body shudder and jolt at each stretch and thrust. It kind of surprises him, how much he loves this, how close he wants to be.

Edgar makes a noise through his teeth. “ _Alright,”_ he says, “alright, I want it, come on, you can do it.”

Jimmy’s cock throbs, holy shit, and he is totally ready to cut the foreplay shit, what was he _thinking_ there. With his hands only a little shaky, he rips open the condom and gets it on, slick and a little strange under his fingers. Edgar is breathing heavily under him, up on his hands now, his stretched hole all pink and twitching. If it wasn’t for the whole lotion thing, Jimmy would take another lick of it. Instead, he lines himself up and pushes in, inch by inch.

This is the part that he has to be careful with. He’s been with someone who wasn’t careful before and while it was, more or less, fine eventually, it’s another thing he doesn’t really want to do to Edgar. He wants Edgar to think about him in the dark of his room, to remember this and ache for it. In a week he wants Edgar horny and stupid with desire, pants around his thighs in whatever room they can find unlocked, he wants to fuck Edgar in every bathroom in the school.

Jimmy bottoms out, curling forward over Edgar. Oh fuck that is hot, that is hotter than he thought it would be. Is this what other guys feel when they fuck Jimmy?

Edgar is muttering something, head hung forward as he gasps for air, something that sounds like a wet, “Give it to me give it to me give it--”

Jimmy fucking gives it to him.

Edgar collapses back onto his elbows, giving up the fight to keep up. He rocks back into Jimmy like he’s trying to get it in deeper, even though Jimmy is relentless, not an inch of mercy. He must be really goddamn worked up, every breath out of his mouth is a little moan, a choked little sound. His body drags at Jimmy. Did he want this before Jimmy even hit on him? Did he want this a week ago, a month ago, watching Jimmy’s ass on the way out of history class, all frustrated with his white knuckled grip on his pencil like he’s clutching the bedsheets now?

“Oh _fuck,”_ Edgar says, voice coming out a little wet, “what was _that?_ ”

Jimmy’s pace stutters. “You mean your G-spot?” he says.

“That’s,” Edgar says, “is that not a myth?”

Jimmy stares down at him, open mouthed. “I can’t fucking believe this, are you kidding me.” He grabs Edgar’s hips and pushes them back up into the arch of a moment before, trying to find that angle again. “Do you not fucking know where your prostate is?”

“How would I know that?” Edgar snaps. “We had two days of sex ed and half of that was about the names of tubes--oh _fuck,_ holy _Mary_.”

It’s hard to feel the difference, condom and all, but the jolt that goes through Edgar’s thighs makes him pretty sure he’s got it now. He grabs Edgar by the hips and slams into him, hard enough that Edgar starts to slide across the sheets, digging the heels of his hands into the bed to hold himself in place. Edgar is sweating now, shoulders straining, working under his skin like strange wings.

“I’m,” he says, “I feel--”

Something hot and dizzying hits Jimmy like a fist; his stomach flips, his heart thumps. “Oh my god,” he says, “can you come from this? Can you come like this?”

“I, I don’t--” Edgar almost sounds like he’s shivering, “--I’ve never tried--”

Jimmy thinks of Edgar fucking himself in the dark of his room, fingers twisting inside himself but never deep enough, endlessly edging until he can’t take it anymore and he falls into his pillows, nails clawing at his thighs, desperate for some kind of relief. How hard for it would he have been, how ready for it if - if someone like Jimmy had climbed in his window one of those nights, maybe, if someone like Jimmy had seen the shine of his trembling body against the dark, the clawing fingers buried in his thighs -

Edgar’s breaths are coming like hiccups now. He grinds back onto Jimmy, trying to make every thrust a little faster, a little deeper.

“Don’t come,” Edgar says, “don’t, inside me.”

“What?” Jimmy says. “I’m wearing a fucking condom, what--”

“I know, that’s--” Edgar lets out a weak little sound and starts over. “I liked it, before, when you let me--I want you to let me--”

The meaning of that plows through Jimmy like a truck, how the fuck is he supposed _not come_ when Edgar is telling him he wants to suck his cock or worse, _not_ suck his cock, Jimmy has to literally reach under himself and twist the skin of his own balls to keep from losing it, which hurts like a bitch, by the way. Algebra is just not gonna cut it tonight. When he’s sure he’s got it under control, he lets go again.

“Okay,” he says, “okay. You just hold still.”

When Edgar comes it’s like he’s been hit with a taser, body twitching under Jimmy’s abuse, knees sliding apart as if he could open himself up any more to the punishment. He breathes hard, taking in air like he’s been choked. His insides twitch around Jimmy, who keeps on fucking him right through it, until his body finally gives the telltale slump. Jimmy grabs hold of him and rolls him over with a heave.

Edgar’s cock lies between his thighs, still as swollen and pinned in its vice as ever. Jimmy rolls the flesh between his fingers as Edgar catches his breath, and a single drop of pale cum beads at the cockhead. Jimmy’s own dick gives an interested throb.

“You still want it?” he says, already peeling the condom off.

“Yes,” Edgar says. He licks his dry lips.

This is the longest Jimmy has ever waited to get what he wants, but it’s absolutely worth it just to see how hungry for it Edgar still is, after everything. Jimmy spreads his knees over Edgar’s mouth and lowers himself, hands flat against the mattress. He watches the wall, unable to do anything else, as the soft warm pressure of Edgar’s mouth closes around the head of his dick.

Edgar’s no pornstar, he’s not a deepthroating champ like Jimmy or anything, how could he be? He sucks at the head, running his tongue over the slit, like he doesn’t give a fuck what Jimmy gets out of it. His hands knead the soft inside of Jimmy’s thighs, nails digging in like he’s trying to leave those same little pink marks. There’s a little wet noise as he pops off and gives the underside an exploratory lick. He sucks, and Jimmy trembles, and it’s so quiet now he must be able to hear Jimmy’s heart going like it’s about to give, pleasure and something almost fear running imaginary fingers down the bumps of his spine - he can’t see Edgar’s face like this and somehow it makes him feel like all at once he’s at Edgar’s mercy, vulnerable to things more than teeth -

Edgar bumps him, just lightly, with his teeth, and Jimmy comes like he’s been kicked, jerking forward against Edgar and the mattress, pouring himself onto Edgar’s tongue. He can feel the tip of the tongue, rough with tastebuds, flick over him, and the soft brush of lips, and then the tingle of suction as Edgar drags the last of it out of him. He slumps.

“That,” he says, “is so goddamn weird.”

Edgar pulls him off by the hips and wipes the overflow off his lips with his fingers. “What,” he says, “did I do it wrong?”

“You can’t really suck dick the wrong way, unless you, like, bite it off or whatever.” Jimmy snorts and scoots back so he’s sitting over Edgar’s chest, slowly going soft against his body. “I mean I’ve sucked a fuck ton of dicks in my life and I still don’t really like the taste of cum.”

“Oh,” Edgar says, frowning. “I don’t either really, I don’t think? Not much basis for comparison but. Anyway.”

“How come you’re so thirsty for it?”

Edgar looks off at a corner of the ceiling, absently settling his hands around Jimmy’s ass. “I might have a bit of a fixation,” he says, looking a little embarrassed about it. “You always want what you can’t have, you know.”

Jimmy wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh,” he says, “you can have it, Vargas. You can have as much as you can take.”

Edgar makes a snorting noise that sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. The light from the lamp timer abruptly clicks off, leaving them alone in the yellow dimness of the bathroom’s overhead. Edgar reaches around Jimmy and fixes his glasses, which have miraculously not broken after all the beating they’ve taken tonight. Or maybe not. Edgar frowns at them and pulls them off, inspecting one of the little clear taps.

“Fuck,” he says, without much feeling. “So much for these.”

He sets them down on the bed beside his head and pushes at Jimmy’s chest until Jimmy finally rolls off. When he sits up, naked and frowning in the rucked mess of sheets, holding his glasses up for a closer look, the half light from the bathroom lights him up like one of those big shiny paintings they won’t let you touch in an art museum. Even the way his eyebrows pull together, the creases in his forehead, all of it - Jimmy suddenly understands how it is that people want to pay ten dollars to walk around in a big boring building and look at things.

“Forget it,” Edgar sighs, and sets his glasses on the side table. “I’m too tired.”

Jimmy sits uneasily on the edge of the bed, not sure now what happens next. None of the guys he fucks ever let him sleep over, even if they’re in a room with a bed, and he doesn’t want to sound like an absolute pussy pushing the point, not like the last time he made the mistake of asking. Not an experience he wants to repeat. He should get up, but he doesn’t _want_ to get up.

Edgar looks up. Edgar looks at him. For a moment there’s silence, and the silence is so loud that Jimmy’s ears ring.

“Guess I’ll crash over there,” Jimmy says, wishing for the first time he wasn’t so totally naked - wishing he had a sheet or a shirt or something. His soft cock brushes the bedspread as he slides back.

Edgar rests his hands on his folded legs, almost formal. “You don’t have to do that,” he says. “This one’s only a double but it’s probably big enough for both of us.”

Jimmy freezes. “Yeah?” he says, playing it cool like.

“Yeah.” Edgar shrugs. He pulls back the sheets from the one corner where they haven’t been totally screwed up and holds them open, like it’s nothing. “I’m already sleeping in my own sweat and all, yours isn’t gonna do me much worse.”

Carefully, Jimmy takes the corner of sheet from Edgar. He slides into them half holding his breath, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to fall asleep with his heart going like this, post-coital or no. Edgar tucks himself in afterward, mouth moving in a silent little yawn, eyes scrunching half-closed. Jimmy watches his cheek sink into the pillow.

“We didn’t use the second condom,” Edgar says. He rubs his eyelid with his middle finger. “That was overkill.”

“It’s for next time,” Jimmy says. He feels small. Still, he knows he did good. There’s no way Edgar won’t want to do this again.

Edgar makes a noise that’s hard to interpret, a kind of _mmph_. There are little tiny marks where his glasses sat on his nose. He reaches out and absently runs a hand over the soft side of Jimmy’s undercut, like petting a cat, and then pauses. His fingers linger over Jimmy, warm and uncertain. Jimmy holds his breath.  

“Do you want to kiss me?” Edgar asks.

Jimmy swallows, dry mouthed. “Yeah,” he says.

“Oh good,” Edgar sighs. “It would have been extremely embarrassing if you said no.”

The ceiling gives a soft creak. Edgar leans in, shifting the pillow under his cheek, and presses his lips to Jimmy’s. He still tastes slightly of cum, but Jimmy barely notices. His heart is going _so_ fast. This is the first time anyone has ever asked to kiss him.

He's really gonna have to brush up on his lock-picking skills.


End file.
